The Tides of Time
by Sandra Evans
Summary: Time passes quickly, and for the worse or the better, we change. We grow and learn, and are swept away by the tides of time. Post Eclipse/Varedha series of one-shots.
1. Homecoming

Katara shivered as the arctic wind blew against her face, stinging her eyes and numbing her nose. She remembered a time when she had been so accustomed to this cold that the chill of the Earth Kingdom fall had felt warm to her, when Spring in an Air Nation temple had been absolutely stifling, when the Fire Nation summers had been unbearable. Now she was used to the heat of the sun on her skin, and the polar weather sent a chill deep into her bones.

Warmth at her side alerted her to someone's presence, and she didn't even have to look to know who it was. "Ryu," she whispered softly, and she felt his shoulder press up against hers in response. It was hotter than it was usually, which meant that he must have been using his firebending in order to warm her. A slight smile lighted upon Katara's lips at the realization.

"It's a strange feeling, isn't it? Going home after being gone for so long." He murmured softly, and Katara nodded slowly, wrapping her arms tighter about her body and leaning into Ryu's tall, hard body. He had been through this once before, she realized. Like her, he had been at War for years only to return home a different man.

"I'm trying to imagine how it is going to look. Sokka wrote me about it… he is so proud. The last time I was there, there was nothing but a bunch of tents, a few women, and some children. It's a real city now, like the North Pole. I…I just can't picture it. It's too different." She replied, and then tucked a strand of wild hair behind her ear. "But all's well, I suppose. I'm different now too," she murmured quietly, her fingertips absently caressing the gentle swell of her stomach.

She had left this place when she had been but a naïve and wide eyed child, eager to see and save the world. She was returning a water bending master; divorced, disgraced, with a child growing in her womb. She returned not as an innocent child, but as a damaged and jaded woman.

She felt Ryu increase the temperature of his hand to further warm her, and the action reminded her so much of Zuko that her heart broke anew. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to remember his tender caresses, the look in his golden eyes that was reserved for her and her alone. Then she steeled herself against the pain and banished the memories, turning to offer Ryu a slight smile in gratitude.

They watched the never-ending landscape of ice roll past, spending their last few moments together in silence. She'd leaned on him through the darkest time in her life, and he had shared the darkest secrets of his past with her. He knew her well enough to know that she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts, but that she wanted enough silence in which to think them. So he said nothing as the steel ship cut through the water and brought them ever closer to their destination.

"I'll miss you," Katara murmured softly after a long time, once the ship had begun to travel along the icy shoreline and she watched the never-changing landscape of the South Pole roll past.

"I'll write to you," Ryu promised softly, and Katara tossed him a tired smile before letting out a sigh. She could feel the ship grumble and moan beneath her feet as it began to slow, and she took in a deep breath, the cold air burning the back of her throat as she did so. She gripped the ship's rail tighter, so that her knuckles were bone white beneath the heavy gloves she wore. Ryu squeezed her shoulder in comfort, and the pair fell into silence once again.

Slowly, the landscape began to shift and change, beginning to resemble in places the areas that Katara had steered her canoe past when she had been a child. There was the spot that Sokka had caught and poked his finger on a puffer fish before promptly screaming bloody murder. As the boat continued to plow forward, memory after memory assailed her, and by the time they reached the place where she had accidentally woken Aang, tears were running down her face in a rapidly freezing stream. Then came the ice formation that she had used to go penguin sliding for as long as she could remember… _Penguin sliding is something the children do, Aang… But don't you know, Katara? You are a kid!_

Next ahead was the Fire Nation wreck that had loomed in the distance all her childhood, a monument to the terror that had overtaken the tribe after the raids that had decimated its numbers. The same ship who's flare had alerted Zuko to her existence, oddly enough. What would life have been like if Aang had never entered that Spirits-forsaken place?

Katara's heart was pounding in her chest at the knowledge that just around the corner laid her childhood home, the land she'd dreamed of returning to for the better part of two years. Suddenly, it was all too much. She closed her eyes as the ship made the turn, suddenly unable to breathe, unable to look at what laid before her. She felt Ryu's hand wrap around hers and she gripped it as though it were a lifeline.

And then, finally, she opened her eyes. The sight made her gasp and grip onto Ryu's hand all the more. Thick walls of ice rose high into the sky, so high that Katara had to crane her neck to see the top of them. The sun's weak rays made the smooth sheets of ice glisten and shine like a pearl set in the midst of dark blue velvet, making Katara stare in awe. She heard the faint sounds of horns blowing and looked up to the top of the walls again, where she saw men so high above her they looked miniature running to spread the news of the arrival of the Fire Nation ship.

And then there were water-benders, so many water benders, and the icy gate to the city of the Southern Water Tribe was being opened for her. Katara barely noticed how slowly the Fire Nation ship was now gliding through the water, and she was only dimly aware of how all of the other Fire Nation passengers stared at the walls of the city in awe. She was too buy absorbing everything, from the walls that must have been at least twenty feet thick to the massive harbor that lay just within the gates.

The city was thriving; dark skinned, blue eyed people she had never seen before bustled about the harbor, selling and buying fish and nets and lures, entering and exiting what appeared to be a tavern… What was this place, a place so much more like the North than the South of her memory? Where had the sealskin huts and warm hearths she remembered disappeared to?

But then she caught sight of a familiar form standing at the docks, and she let out a soft cry. Suddenly, the ship was going entirely too slow for her tastes. She let go of Ryu's hand, lifted and froze a thick stream of water from the ocean and leapt off the ship, gliding along on her makeshift slide until she was at the docks and wrapped in her brother's warm, warm embrace.

She heard her grandmother's raspy laugh and felt the woman's arms close around she and her brother both, and suddenly Katara was sobbing into the parkas of her brother and her Gran-Gran, and they were both crying too as they held her. And in the arms of the only family she had left after the cruel, cruel war, she knew... despite how different her surroundings were, despite the fact that she didn't recognize half of the members of her tribe, despite the fact that the arctic air now felt foreign against her skin…

She was home.


	2. Wedding Night

Zuko rested his head against the wall, taking deep breaths to steady himself as the memories of the day washed over him. The mind that had only moments before been hazy with sake was now alert and working in overdrive as he remembered the throng of people that had been packed into the throne room, remembered the way the strong scent of the incense burning had made his throat ache and his eyes water. The ceaseless drone of the chanting Fire Sage still filled his ears, and the image of dark eyes beneath a read, gauzy veil trimmed in gold was impressed like an engraving behind his eyelids. The taste of the bitter wine they had shared from the great, golden goblet his mother and father had once drunk from still lingered on his tongue.

And he remembered the wedding before this one. He remembered trembling with nerves and happiness as he gripped the hands of a blue eyed girl in threadbare finery, remembered how the bitter wine they shared together had tasted sweet. He remembered lighting the fire that signaled their union with great enthusiasm; how he had looked into her shining eyes and had never felt so complete.

Agni, he missed her.

Zuko wanted to back away from the ornate doors of the Fire Lady's chambers; wanted to run and hide, and closet himself in his office, to bury himself in his work. Anything but to enter the chambers his mother had lived in, the chambers he had once promised a water tribe girl would be hers, and make love to a woman that he wished was not his wife. But he could not.

The Fire Nation needed an heir, but more than that, this was Mai's wedding night as well. And while he could not bring himself to love her, she did love him, selflessly, intensely, with a passion that Zuko still found it hard to believe the pale, stoic girl possessed. She had held him through his darkest times, had been there for him when he had needed guidance, had shown him love when he needed it the most. He owed this to her.

Besides, he had promised the woman he loved with every breath in his body that he would do his best to love the woman that was now his wife. It was the last promise that he had ever given the girl. He could not bring himself to break it.

Zuko took another deep breath before squaring his shoulders and pushing himself away from the wall. With that, he entered the Fire Lady's chambers. It was dark inside, lit only by a few candles, and the scent of incense clouded the room. When his eyes adjusted, he could see Mai sitting at the very edge of the bed, her body drawn into hard lines as she sat with her back straight, her head lifted into the air, her white hands clenched firmly in her lap, her feet planted on the floor.

Her dark eyes were shining with moisture, Zuko noticed, her mouth drawn into a firm line to stop it from trembling. She suddenly looked very weak, very young, sitting there at the edge of the bed, her gauzy robe pulled tightly closed over her revealing night-dress, her sleek hair hanging framing her face like a dark halo.

Indomitable, fearless, thick skinned Mai was scared, Zuko realized with a start. More than scared, he noted when her wet eyes made contact with his and her shoulders jerked. In that moment, compassion filled his being, crowding out self pity and sorrow. He remembered how nervous he had been his first time, and that had been with a girl he had known loved him above all else. What must it be like, he wondered, to be so exposed to someone you knew didn't love you? Who you knew was still hopelessly in love with someone else?

"Mai," he breathed softly, crossing the room and crouching in front of her, taking her face between his hands and gently rubbing a calloused thumb over her soft cheek. In that moment, her lips began to tremble and a tear dropped from her dark eyes, and Zuko groaned softly before he gently kissed it away.

"Don't be afraid of me," he murmured softly, and those impossibly dark eyes of hers flashed up to his again, and in them, he could read her fears and insecurities. He was profoundly touched that this woman of steel had let her guard down before him so completely that she appeared to be a fragile china doll, liable to break if not handled with care.

"I'm not," she lied valiantly, and Zuko couldn't help but to smile. He leaned closer to her and could feel her sharp intake of breath, could feel her body trembling beneath his hands. With a gentleness ha hadn't thought he would be able summon, he kissed her forehead, her closed eyelids, her lips. She gasped against his lips and he tilted his head, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth and suckling gently.

Zuko could feel her body start and realized abruptly that Mai had never been kissed like that before. Throughout their engagement, he had given her chaste pecks to make himself seem to be a man in love, but never had he kissed her with any feeling or passion. And there had never been another man before him.

Gently, slowly, so as not to startle her, he pressed himself closer to her body and pushed her down so that she was lying on the bed. And all the while, he kissed her, caressing her lips with his own, and later, her tongue with his. It was with great care that he removed her robe, and with the slow movements that one would use so as not to startle an ostrich-horse that he pulled her flimsy night dress from her pale, thin body.

She was quiet as his hands moved over her, the only indicator of her pleasure were her deep, throaty gasps. She turned her face into her pillow and cried when he entered her, and the sight of her tears cut Zuko to the core. But slowly, she began to respond to his movements and after a short while the tears dried and the fear faded from her eyes. And when they were finished, she lay pressed against his side, her head on his chest, her silky black hair covering the arm he had wrapped around her waist.

As Zuko's breathing slowed, he stared up at the ceiling, remembering a different night, a different woman. A woman whose fear had only been virginal in nature, a woman…girl… who had done everything in her power to please him, just as it had been his focus to please her. Who had murmured a sleepy 'I love you' against his chest before she had faded into slumber, who he had longed to wake beside every morning for the rest of his life.

Zuko closed his eyes, trying to banish the memory and fulfill his promise to that girl that he would try to love his wife. And as he began to fade from consciousness and enter the sweet embrace of sleep, he could feel Mai's tears against his chest once more, and heard her soft, broken whisper…

"No wonder she loved you so."


	3. A Brother's Love

Sokka sighed as he watched his sister giving bending lessons to the young children in their village-no, their city. Even in the last trimester of her pregnancy she was active and graceful, bending water as fluidly through the air as she had when she was a young girl journeying with the Avatar. Only the way she tended to waddle as she walked and occasionally would rub her lower back gave away her discomfort.

Sokka gritted his teeth as he watched two young girls walk past the training grounds, glancing pointedly at Katara's belly before whispering to each other as they hurried away. From the sudden straightening of Katara's spine, Sokka knew she had seen them too. His sister's pregnancy was something that was pointedly never spoken of in his presence, but he still had heard the rumors.

There were those who believed that she had been subjected to sexual torture while being held prisoner, others who thought that she had succumbed to the advances of a man out of intense loneliness. Still others believed that the time she had spent traveling so far from home had stripped her of her values and modesty, and that she had purposefully slept with many men and had been impregnated by a man whose name she could not remember. Not one of the rumors indicated that the child within her had been created in love.

Once again, Sokka felt the urge to hunt Zuko down and rip out his heart with his bare hands. How dare foul waste of humanity force his baby sister to fall in love with him, betray her, keep her prisoner, divorce her, and then send her away with a child in her womb? Where was the man's honor, his compassion? Zuko deserved to die for making his sister an outcast in her own home, for putting that ever-present sadness behind her eyes. If he had his way... One day his sword would be in Zuko's gut.

He was brought out of his dark thoughts when he felt a gentle hand rest against his arm. Startled, he whipped his head around and met the concerned green eyes of his wife. "You're thinking about him again," Suki said, and Sokka made no attempt to deny it. She was well acquainted with his fantasies of killing the man who had betrayed his sister, and she had the ability to read his face like an open book.

Sokka forced himself to relax his shoulders and unclench his jaw, and looked down to the baby securely wrapped in his wife's arms. Little Hakoda had reached his first year only several days before, and Sokka had never been more proud. The baby reached his arms out to him, and Sokka swept the child into his embrace, planting a warm kiss against the baby's downy head.

"It's not healthy to obsess about it Sokka," Suki said, glancing over to where Katara was training the group of young girls. "She's here now, she's safe…"

"She's miserable," Sokka muttered, and Suki shook her head.

"Look at all that she's accomplished. She's opened a training center for girls, a center that focuses on both fighting and healing. She's working alongside Gran-Gran as a midwife, she's using her knowledge and skills to be the tribe's healer. She has a full, busy, productive life. I would not call that miserable," his wife said in defense of her sister in law, and Sokka could hear the respect that colored the older woman's voice as she spoke of her friend.

"She does it all to forget. She works herself to the bone every day so she'll be too exhausted at night to think about _him,_" Sokka replied, referring to Zuko in the same way he would mutter a curse.

His wife was silent for once, and Sokka glanced over at her to see that her pretty face was troubled. "She doesn't try to forget because they are bad memories," she murmured softly, and Sokka glared at her. "She tries to forget because she is still in love with him."

Sokka said nothing, merely looked down at his son as he felt the anger swell within his chest. He felt Suki's small hands on his shoulders, but refused to look at her, unreasonably angry that she was as forgiving of Zuko as Katara was. "You cannot hold onto past injustices, Sokka," she murmured softly. "We've built a new life together. Katara has built a new life for herself. None of us will be able to heal if we don't let go of the past. We need to look to the future," she added, touching their son's cheek that was rosy with cold.

Sokka said nothing. In his heart of hearts, he knew what his wife said was true. But had vowed that he would never forgive the man who had put the sadness in his sister's blue eyes until those pretty blue orbs were pure and happy once more.


	4. An Arrival

_Uncle,_

_My son was born today. _

_It was a long labor, harder than most, Gran-Gran said. She also told me that it is quite likely that I will never be able to have another. That was nothing I hadn't known already. I have sworn on my mother's grave that I will never marry again, and so I had already known in my heart that this child was to be the only one the Spirits would see fit to bless me with. _

_He is a beautiful infant, Uncle, the most beautiful I have ever seen. Every inch of him is perfectly formed, from his ten little fingers to his ten perfect toes. But I fear for him. Even at this precious, infantile state, his skin is lighter than any of the babies born to our tribe, his bones lighter, his small features more delicate, the downy hair on his head darker and silkier. Right now his eyes are the gray-blue of infancy, but I know it won't be long until his Fire Nation heritage will be evident. _

_He is a child that is destined to be betwixt and between two worlds, never truly being accepted by either. My only hope for him is that the other village children will become so accustomed to green eyed, fair skinned Hakoda, that they will not point and laugh at the obvious physical signs of my son's mixed heritage. But more than that, I pray to La that they will not fear him for the blood of fire that runs through his veins. _

_I miss you so dearly, Uncle. I miss your guidance more than I can begin to say. It seems like every day I've been longing for your wisdom. Although Pakku has attempted to enlighten me through the games of Pai Sho I remember so fondly playing with you, and Gran-Gran has done her best to help acclimate me back to the Water Tribes… It is nothing like the parables you used to tell me. Nothing like the wisdom and guidance you once offered with one hand and the cup of tea you proffered with the other. _

_Please come and visit us soon. I know Gran-Gran will be thrilled to meet you, and that Sokka and Suki will be so excited to show little Hakoda off to you. And I want my son, my dear, sweet, little Pakak, to be held by his mother's favorite uncle. _

_All my love, _

_K. _

Iroh sighed softly as he finished Katara's letter, and he could feel his nephew's eyes on him. Zuko was aware, of course, that Katara and Iroh had maintained contact since the woman had left for the Water Tribes, but never once had the man asked to read one of the letters. Never once had he asked for news on Katara's condition or state of mind. He would merely stare at his uncle, and inscrutable look on his face before he would drop his gaze and look away.

Iroh was no fool. He knew that despite the fact his nephew had grown closer to his wife, Katara was still the queen of his heart. He felt for the boy who had been forced at such a young age to become a man, for the young, innocent girl who had had her heart broken, and who had returned to her homeland divorced and pregnant out of wedlock. And he felt for Mai, the woman who was now his nephew's wife in name, but who knew that she would never be the wife of his heart. He felt for them all. Children were always the greatest victims of war.

Wordlessly, he extended the letter to his nephew. Iroh watched as Zuko's eyes widened as he stared at what must have been familiar handwriting, could see the internal war that raged across the boy's…no, the man's… face. Finally, his hand trembling in a way most unbecoming of a Fire Lord, Zuko reached out and gingerly took the letter from Iroh's hand.

Iroh pretended not to see his nephew's eyes fill as he read the letter, pretended not to notice the way that Zuko traced Katara's handwriting the way a man would run his fingertips over his lover's body. And when Zuko set the letter down on his ornate desk, bent his head, and allowed his tears to flow onto the parchment, Iroh looked away to give the man some privacy.

His heart broke, and he stifled his own urge to give into tears as the thoughts of could have beens and should have beens passed through his mind. He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, and turned back to his nephew once the man had composed himself.

"I have a son," Zuko said, his voice thick and sounding like more like the child Iroh had helped to raise than the man that boy had become. "A son," he said again, glancing back down at the letter and re-reading every word.

"Pakak," Iroh replied softly, and Zuko nodded.

"Pakak," the boy-turned-man echoed, and Iroh gently rested a hand on his shoulder.

For a while, the two men stood in silence, and Iroh was not surprised that Zuko was the one to finally break it. "When you go see her, could you tell her…" he began, and then stopped himself with a slight shake of his head. Iroh knew what his nephew had been about to say, and he squeezed the boy's shoulder slightly in compassion.

He watched with a pain in his chest as Zuko's brows furrowed, and the boy's mouth worked with words he was unsure of how to say. "Never once did my father tell me that he loved me," he said at long last, and Iroh closed his eyes against the familiar futile fury that rose within him towards his brother. "My son will never hear those words from my lips either," the boy continued softly, his words choked and strangled.

Iroh could say nothing; no wise words of comfort came to mind. His nephew had voiced a simple and profoundly painful truth, one that could never be altered.

"Uncle, when you go…" Zuko said softly, and Iroh looked down at the boy that he loved like his own child, "…could you tell my son that I love him?" he asked, sounding very little like a Fire Lord and very much like the nineteen year old that he was . There was a raw pleading in his voice, one that made Iroh wrap his ample arms around the boy in comfort.

"Of course," he replied softly. Although Pakak would not be old enough to remember his father's words, they would be spoken. And perhaps somehow, someway, the Spirits would allow the child to have some inkling of a memory. Perhaps, from the stories Iroh would tell the infant while he was in the cradle, he would have some vague notion of who his father was. And would know that he was loved.


	5. New Life

The babe laid in the cradle, rosy and wrinkled, wisps of dark hair covering the top of his pale head. The entire Fire Nation had celebrated the birth of the Fire Lord's firstborn son for the past week; the streets had been filled with the laughter of the standard week-long festival thrown in honor of the birth of a prince, the normally vicious courtiers had been all smiles and cheerful congratulations. Mai's eyes shone with maternal pride and her normally blank face was lit with a perpetual smile even though she was still confined to her chambers as custom dictated. But as Zuko accepted compliments and kissed his wife's forehead and stared down into the cradle of his child, he couldn't help but to think of his true first-born.

He could hold this infant in his arms; could coddle and kiss him, could shower him with all the love that had been withheld from himself when he had been a child. But there was another baby that he would never see, that would never know a father's love. _Pakak._ His heart ached at the thought of the name, and he forcefully pushed thoughts of his first-born from his mind.

He reached into the cradle and brushed a calloused thumb against his son's soft cheek, and smiled slightly when the infant instinctively turned his head and began working his rosy little lips at the touch. He recalled the moment of the infant's birth, remembered the piercing wail that echoed off the walls of the birthing chambers. He remembered seeing his son for the first time, scrubbed clean and wrapped in a richly embroidered red blanket, remembered the misty look in Mai's eyes as she gazed from her husband to her child. Zuko had felt pride then, but the pride had been mixed with a touch of sorrow, a smidgen of regret, a healthy dose of fear.

And now as he stared down at this infant, he remembered a little girl with dark curls and gray eyes who he had set upon the funeral pyre two years before. Would Sotaro, his little son, be the victim of yet another's ambition? Would he die the painful death of his sister? Would he love this baby only to have him snatched away and set in the flames before his time?

Suddenly Mai's milk-white hand was on his arm and she was staring into his face, her fathomless dark eyes troubled. "Zuko?" she murmured softly in question, and he swallowed thickly and tore his gaze away from the infant.

"It's nothing," he murmured, and gently kissed her forehead, slowly easing her away from the cradle and back into her bed. He did not want to scare her, did not want her to bear the burden that he shouldered. She had enough hardship in the past to last her a lifetime; the last thing she needed was to be reminded of Nozomi and to wonder at her son's fate.

She said nothing and allowed herself to be placed back into her bed, sat still when he tenderly adjusted the covers around her thin frame, and managed a thin lipped smile when he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. But he could see the shadow of disbelief in her eyes, could see her knowledge of his pain etched in her face; knew she could feel the ghost of Katara, Pakak, and Nozomi in the room.

He wanted to apologize, but understood that no apology could be a balm to her heartache. So he lightly kissed her pale, thin lips and stepped away from her bed and out of her room, banishing thoughts of a dark skinned beauty and the child that he had never known.


	6. The Innocents

Katara sighed and set the letter in her lap, turning her attention to her son with a slight, sad smile. Pakak sat beside his cousin, the two boys talking with one another and playing with Sokka's old boomerang. It had dulled with time, so she wasn't concerned about the little boy slicing his finger against the edge, but it still made heart lurch to see her child with a weapon in his small, innocent hands. Was his fascination with swords and weapons the natural curiosity of a boy, or was it a sign of the bloodlust of his ancestors on his father's side? Would he play with a boomerang now only to cruelly cut a man down with one later in life?

Katara shuddered and pushed the thoughts out of her mind. Pakak was a sweet child, often putting others before himself, already sensitive to her moods and thoughts. Often, when she looked at him and saw Zuko in his face, her son's strange, fathomless eyes would bore into her with an odd sort of knowing before he would wrap his arms around her as though to give her comfort. He was a good boy; he could not possibly carry the cruelty of his forefathers in his heart of gold.

"They live in such a different world," the voice came so suddenly that Katara repressed the urge to jump, startled at the sudden appearance of her sister in law. Even heavy with child and carrying a toddler on her hip, Suki still possessed all the stealth of a Kyoshi Warrior. Katara gave the woman a slight smile, and watched as Suki placed the toddler, Keiki, on the floor, and saw the little girl toddle over to her brother and her cousins. The boys barely spared her a glance. At two, she was too young for a five and six year old to bother with, and since she was a girl she was even less welcome in their little circle. Katara saw herself, Sokka, and Beno reflected in the scene.

"When I was Hakoda's age, the leader of the Kyoshi warriors gave me my first fans and told me that someday, I would have to do battle with the Fire Nation. They play with weapons. We fought with them," Suki continued, and Katara looked away from the children to focus on her sister-in-law.

"The Fire Nation killed my mother when I wasn't much older than them," Katara added quietly, and Suki nodded her head and let out a sigh.

"It's strange to think- just five years ago we were still at war. I don't think I'll ever get used to the peace," she murmured, and Katara gripped the woman's hand.

"I don't think any of our generation will. We were raised in the shadow of war; I think all of our lives, we're going to expect it to be looming just around the corner," Katara replied, and for a time, the two women stood in silence again, watching their little boys play Warrior without truly understanding what war was.

"They're lucky," Suki murmured softly after a time. "When we went to battle, I was barely seventeen, and you were even younger still. Our earliest years were spent knowing that we had to kill or be killed; we were cheated out of a childhood."

"At least our children will have the opportunity to be children," Katara replied with a slight, sad smile. "The war will not start again, and if it does… _He_ will make sure that the South Pole remains untouched by it," she added, her blue eyes growing dark and sad as she stared at her fair skinned, black haired boy with eyes the color of the sun rising over the sea.

"He is a good man," Suki murmured softly, and gripped Katara's hand in compassion. If she were younger, Katara would have cried. But she had cried out all of her tears years past; her eyes had long since run dry.

"He has three children in the Fire Nation now," Katara said softly, lifting the letter she had set on her lap up so that Suki could see it. "Sotaro, Atzuo, and Taizo. Three little princes," she murmured, and her chest ached as she whispered the names of the sons of the man she had never ceased to love. Ached at the knowledge that he had moved on with his life, even while she was grateful that he had appeared to find some happiness.

Suki held Katara's hand tighter, and pressed her body closer to that of her closest friend's for comfort. The woman said nothing; she had learned long ago that speaking of Zuko pained Katara, and she hated to see her sister in law in pain. But an understanding passed between them, the sort of understanding that could only be shared between women who were as close as sisters.

Katara was grateful for Suki's silence, and she let out a soft, sad sigh as she turned her attention back to her son. What would it be like, she wondered, if Zuko had been a part of this child's life? Pakak had shown no aptitude for bending; would Zuko have given the boy his own pair of Dao swords and taught him how to use them? Would he have paced the room with him at night when the child couldn't sleep? Told him tales of the war and the way things used to be?

Sometimes, she could go several days without allowing herself to dwell on all of the 'could have beens.' But on other days, even after five years, she missed Zuko so badly that it was a physical ache; it felt like she had left a piece of herself in the Fire Nation that her body desperately needed in order to function properly. And sometimes, Pakak's strange eyes would follow Hakoda and Sokka, and then land on her with a sorrowful question in their depths. Those moments cut her to the quick, and breathing was as difficult as it would be if she were underwater.

Pakak had asked her not so long ago where his father was. It had taken her a moment to answer, but she had managed to say, "Somewhere very far away."

And then he had asked her why his father didn't tuck him into bed at night like Uncle Sokka tucked in Hakoda. Katara's throat had closed with unshed tears, and it had taken her several moments to compose herself well enough to speak. "Because he loves you too much." The answer had been too cryptic for the then four year old Pakak to possibly understand, but those eyes- a collision of gold and blue- had stared at her with a wisdom beyond his years, and he had nodded his little head in acceptance of her strange answer. He hadn't asked about his father since.

Sokka had been a father as well as uncle to Pakak as best as he had been able, and Katara loved her brother all the more for trying to fill that void in her son's life, but her heart ached to know that it was a void that could never truly be filled. Her decisions, and Zuko's echoed through time, and had consequences that effected not only them, but everyone who knew them. Especially their son.

With Suki at her side and Iroh's letter in her hand, Katara stared at her son and wondered why it was always the innocent who suffered for the choices and mistakes of others.


	7. Full Circle

Katara stared down at the little girl who was bowing at her feet, her brown curls resting against the snow. _She is the avatar._ The words rang in her ears as she looked down on that little head. Eight years old, eight years old and already the child knew who she was, what she was. Aang had been eleven when he had learned, and even that had been too soon. But then Aang had been made of air, Katara reminded herself. Flighty, desperate to avoid confrontation, entirely too eager to escape from anything unpleasant. This girl was made of water, she was adaptable, could welcome and flow with change.

"Wouldn't Pakku be better suited to train her?" she asked the man who had brought the girl from the Northern Water Tribe. "After all, he was my master," she reasoned, and the man shook his head.

"But you were the master of the last avatar. It is your duty to train the next," he replied, and Katara sighed and looked down at the child again.

She was a sturdy little thing, water tribe through and through. There was nothing of Aang in this dark skinned, brown haired child, and yet she was his reincarnation. Someday, Aang would come to her in a vision as Roku had gone to Aang. Someday, this tiny little body would wield earth and fire and air, would be sent on missions to maintain the fragile, fledgling peace, would enter the Avatar state and speak with one thousand voices.

The little girl peeked up at her from under her eyelashes, her bright blue eyes betraying a sort of mischievousness, a glimmer of intelligence. Katara shook her head again and sighed. "My, how life repeats itself. And how ironic, the most powerful being in the world is a girl born to a society of chauvinists," she murmured softly, and extended her hand to the child.

The man from the Northern tribe sputtered, but the little girl grinned at Katara's wry comment, revealing a streak of good humor. Katara liked the child already. "I'm Nukka!" she exclaimed, taking Katara's hand, her grin widening further and her cheeks dimpling with pleasure.

And just then, Katara was taken back to a different time, to a boy who had sneezed and flew ten feet in the air before looking up at her with mischievous gray eyes and had said "I'm Aang!" with a sheepish sort of enthusiasm. For a moment, Katara's heart ached, missing Aang as she missed Toph and Nozomi and her father, before looking down at Nukka and realizing that the spirits had seen fit to give her a second chance, to give a piece of Aang back to her.

"You will be living with me now," Katara said, a slight smile touching her lips as she remembered living with Aang in those early days, remembering his cheerfulness and enthusiasm, remembering his bright, unguarded smile and the way he managed to keep the peace between she and her brother, remembering how the boy had become a part of her family as effortlessly as though he had been born into it. And she prayed to Tui and La that Nukka would fit in just as well as her past life had.

She reached behind her and tugged on the parka of the little boy who was hiding behind her legs. "Meet your new housemate," she said with a slight smile, giving her son a shove towards the little girl. "This is my son, Pakak," she introduced the boy.

The pair looked over each other cautiously, their noses scrunched in thought, their eyes narrowed in speculation. Finally, Nukka seemed to come to a decision. Her face cleared, then brightened, and she reached for Pakak's gloved hand. "Come on! Let's go penguin sledding!" she exclaimed. Pakak's stoic face broke out into a smile, and he waved goodbye as he allowed himself to be tugged away.

_My, how things come full circle,_ Katara thought, remembering a gray eyed boy's smile, his infectious laugh, his penchant for play. And she remembered the first words he had ever spoken to her all those years ago as she held him in her arms just after his release from his icy prison…

"_Will you go penguin sledding with me?"_


	8. A Visit

"How time flies," Iroh murmured with a smile, watching as Hakoda, Nukka, Keiki, and Pakak played. At the tender age of four, Keiki had been given her very own Kyoshi warrior fans, and had begun learning how to use them. Now, however, the little girl used them not as weapons but as playthings, as she spun around laughing while using them in an attempt to deflect the little water whips that Nukka playfully sent her way. The boys cheered and yelled out encouragements-Hakoda to his sister and Pakak to Nukka- as they elbowed one another and sharpened their boomerangs.

Katara made a small noise of agreement as she watched the children, and she rested her head against Iroh's shoulder, still not quite able to believe that he was really by her side. He had come to visit once before, shortly after Pakak's birth, but the favored advisor of the Fire Lord could only travel to the South Pole so many times over a period of years and manage to avoid suspicion.

When Iroh's ship had docked and he had stepped off, Katara had rushed to him and had reveled in his warm, soft embrace. It had been years since she had hugged a firebender, and had nearly forgotten how warm they were. The feel of his warm body roused thoughts of Zuko, of the Fire Nation, of the life that she had left over eight years before. It had almost been enough to unravel her; she had been tempted to bury her head in the crook of Iroh's neck and weep like a child. Instead, she had drawn away from him, and introduced him to her son.

The children had been standing together on the docks; Hakoda, Nukka, and Pakak standing side by side, united in their uncertainty, warily watching this stranger embrace the woman who acted as a mother to them all. When Katara had called Pakak's name and told him to greet his uncle, his face had scrunched up in suspicion and he had looked at Iroh through narrowed, uncertain eyes.

The heavyset man had stepped forward and extended his hand, and then had paused, standing still and looking down at the child with eyes that shone in a combination of amusement and tears. Pakak had eyed the proffered hand warily, before scrutinizing the elderly man's face. And then the usually reserved and cautious child had stepped forward, ignoring the hand, and had wrapped his arms around Iroh's middle.

When Pakak pulled away, he looked up at the old man and a smile lit upon the little boy's usually serious face. "You send Momma letters. They make her happy," he had said simply, and just like that, he had welcomed Iroh into his family. The other children had swiftly followed suit, and it was only a matter of time before the children were bickering over who got to sit on Uncle's lap as he told them stories about the old days.

"It truly does," Katara murmured from where her head rested on Iroh's shoulder as she watched the children play. "I keep wishing that it would slow down, but…" she began, and then trailed off with a sigh. "Pakak is eight years old already. Sometimes, I look at him and wonder where the time went; it still feels like just yesterday that I discovered that I was pregnant with him."

"I remember those days well," Iroh replied with a soft, sad sigh, and Katara closed her eyes against the wave of memories that suddenly crashed over her.

"I hear Mai just had another child," she murmured softly after a time, and she could feel Iroh's bushy beard bob against her cheek as he nodded his head.

"A girl. They named her Mairi."

Katara was silent for a time as she digested the information, and then she nodded her head. "This is the fifth child, isn't it?" she asked, and Iroh nodded again.

"Sotaro, Atzuo, Taizo, Ryzuo, and now her. They're lovely children, really. Nothing of Ozai or Sozin in any of them," he replied, and Katara managed a wry smile.

"Well, thank the spirits for that," she replied, and Iroh chuckled.

The two fell into a companionable silence again, watching as the children scurried around in the snow and began to build snow castles. Nukka used her bending to form tall, spiraling towers made of ice while the others packed the snow into bricks and walls.

"Do you ever think of having another?" Iroh asked softly, and Katara let out a heavy sigh.

"I can't," Katara murmured quietly, and Iroh raised a bushy brow. "I nearly died giving birth to Pakak… I was told my chances of conceiving again are minute, and the chances of carrying a baby to term are slim to none."

"But don't you think of _trying_?" Iroh asked, and despite being twenty six years old, a master waterbender, healer, and mother, Katara's cheeks warmed.

"There was a man," Katara admitted softly, and she could sense Iroh's surprise. "Nothing serious, mind you. But there were times when I was so lonely, all I wanted was to feel connected to someone, anyone, if only for a moment… but he was a poor substitute," she murmured, and Iroh's hand closed around hers. "Sokka doesn't even know about him… the man married a good, respectable woman, and they have several children now. I'm happy for him."

"And you? Are you happy?" Iroh pried, and Katara glanced down at her hands. She was silent for a time, thinking.

"I have a wonderful son; I've managed to open a Waterbending School for Girls in one of the most chauvinistic places in this world, I am training the avatar…I'm as happy as I'll ever be," she replied, and Iroh nodded his head, understanding all of the things that she did not say. Understanding that there would always be a deep sadness in her that no amount of current joy could shake.

"And how is training the avatar?" he asked, forcing a jovial note into his voice, and was rewarded by one of Katara's rare smiles.

"Wonderful. She's so bright, such a quick study. She encourages the other girls to work harder… and she's been so good for Pakak. He's usually so reserved, but with her…" she waved her hand to gesture towards the children, and Iroh glanced over to see Pakak throw a fistful of snow at the older girl with an impish grin. "She brings out the best in him."

"It will be hard on him when she leaves," Iroh noted, and Katara sighed sadly as she watched the girl play. The elders had decided that Nukka would stay with the tribe until she turned sixteen and had her coming of age ceremony, at which point she would be sent to the Earth Kingdom to learn earthbending, and then later to the Fire Nation to learn firebending.

"It will be hard on all of us," she replied, thinking to the nights that she and Suki spent teaching Nukka and Keiki the womanly arts of sewing and cooking. Nukka was a terrible study at cooking, preferring to manipulate the water content in the food than learning how to cook it. However, her antics always made for a lively and interesting evening.

She loved Pakak with all of her heart, but there were times that she did not understand him, and she knew there were certain things she would never be able to share with him. She understood Nukka, understood her well, and their common gender and bending abilities enabled their bond to be tightly woven. When Nukka left, it would be like losing a daughter.

Iroh's hand was suddenly enveloping hers, his eyes warm and kind. "You will make it through. You always have," he murmured with a slight smile, and the corners of Katara's lips quirked upwards.

She had attempted and failed to save the world, had been married and divorced, had adopted and lost a child, was raising the illegitimate son of the Fire Lord on her own, and had been the waterbending master of two avatars. Yes, no matter what the Spirits had decided to throw her way, she had been strong enough to rise above her circumstances and shoulder on. She glanced over to where the children played, and her smile widened. Iroh was right. She would make it through the coming years, just as she always had.


	9. Family

"I have a gift for you," Iroh said as he settled his ample girth in the seat across from Zuko's desk. The Fire Lord glanced up from his paperwork, to his uncle, and he set his quill down with a sigh. The usual look of mischievous glee that was usually present when gift giving was absent from the aging man's face, which immediately set Zuko on edge. This gift could not be a new tea set or a sungi horn or another statue like that Agni-awful grinning monkey that Iroh had purchased during his exile, then.

Iroh held a slim package wrapped in coarsely woven cloth out to him, and Zuko eyed the man for a moment before taking it. "Shall I shake it and try to guess what it is, like you used to make me do when you brought me gifts?" Zuko asked with a slight smile, attempting to interject some humor into the exchange.

Iroh's responding smile was a touch sad, slightly weary. "Just open it, Zuko," he murmured, and the Fire Lord heaved out a sigh before unwrapping the object. When the cloth fell away, Zuko's heart stopped.

In the hall, a portrait hung of his family. He stood looking stern, with Mai sitting pale and stoic by his side, their small children dressed in rich, royal robes and their little faces staring blankly ahead. It was the family that fate had thrust upon him; a family he loved, to be certain, but not the one that he would have chosen.

In his hands, he held a portrait of the family that had once been his, the family that he had chosen and that fate had seen fit to take away. Suki and Sokka stood with their arms around one another, grinning like fools, an infant wrapped in furs resting in Suki's embrace. A little girl with braids stood holding to her mother's parka, while a boy of nine or ten stood beside his father, a familiar boomerang clutched in his hands.

And then, oh, Agni… there was Katara. It had been nine years since Zuko had seen her, and some days he had managed to push that sweet, youthful, blue eyed face to the back of his mind, but now, looking at her image, memories assailed him. She had changed over the years, just as he knew he had. Her figure was more womanly, her face more chiseled. He had loved a young girl and a woman had taken her place.

Had she really only been sixteen when she had been living in the Fire Nation palace? He had felt like such an adult then, had seen her as being such a woman. But she had been little more than a child, as had he. It was no small wonder he had made the mistakes that he had, that she had been so hurt… They had been children attempting to carve a path in a world meant for adults; they had been destined for failure.

Zuko swallowed hard and stared at the picture, at the sad, blue eyes of the woman that he had loved so strongly, whose presence he still sometimes felt. He flicked his gaze over the portrait once more, and took in the fact that her hand was resting on the shoulder of Sokka's son, and that her arm was wrapped around another child, a child with skin paler than Sokka's children and hair as black as ink.

For a moment, Zuko couldn't breathe. _Pakak._ Reverently, he brushed his fingertips over the painted image of his son's face, and his heart broke to know that this would likely be the only caress that he could ever give his firstborn. The little boy was handsome, if not a touch serious. His stoic face seemed out of place with the rest of his family; looked more like it belonged in a frame in some Fire Nation hall rather than in a quickly painted family portrait.

Zuko felt moisture running down his cheeks, and he absently brushed the tears away. When he glanced up at his uncle, his vision was swimming entirely too much for him to make out the expression on the old man's face, but he assumed it was one of pity mixed with sorrow and understanding. Zuko swallowed the lump in his throat, and bowed his head to the man that had been a father to him for as long as he could remember.

"Thank you, Uncle," he murmured softly, clutching the portrait to his heart. Iroh was suddenly at his side, a meaty hand resting on his shoulder. The man said nothing, simply squeezed Zuko's shoulder lightly in comfort before turning away and walking out of the office.

Zuko took a deep breath, pulling his emotions under control once he was left alone, and then glanced out the window towards the gardens.

Atzuo and Taizo were running around the garden, sword fighting with sticks that they had found under the willow tree. Aged four and three, they were too young for their coordination to be honed yet, but were old enough to enjoy the fight. Little Ryuzo toddled after them, trying to get involved in the play, but his older brothers had little patience for them. Sotaro, the eldest at six, was off in the corner, practicing his Fire-bending and glaring at his brothers when they came close enough to break his concentration. And then there was Mai, standing cool and collected in the midst of all the mayhem, rocking their infant daughter and playing referee with their boys.

She was a good woman and a devoted mother, despite her façade of cool indifference. The children both feared and adored her, and even at their tender age, his sons were fiercely protective of her. She was a better woman than he deserved.

After the first child had been born, Mai had packed away her opium and hadn't touched it since. He still had a bottle of Sake resting temptingly in his desk drawer. She was able to put the past behind her, while its ghosts still haunted him. Mai loved him with all of her heart, he knew, but he only loved her with half of his. She deserved someone much, much better than him.

Zuko sighed softly as he stared out at his family, his lips quirking as he watched the antics of his son, his eyes softening as his gaze lingered on his wife and newborn daughter. And then he glanced away from them for just a moment, his eyes catching the portrait that his uncle had brought him. He opened his desk drawer and placed the portrait beside the sake, shoving thoughts of a blue eyed girl and a child that he would never know to the back of his mind.

And then he walked out the door and towards the garden, and into the arms of the family that loved him.


	10. A Glimpse

"How did you survive? When Nozomi died, how did you…" Aunt Suki's wail was cut off by a series of gasping sobs as she buried her face into his mother's shirt. _Nozomi…_ It was a foreign name, a name of the Fire Nation, a name that he had never heard before. And yet his mother's face crumpled at the mention of it, her body stiffening before she wrapped her arms more firmly around his aunt.

"One day at a time," she replied softly, tears beginning a slow descent down her copper colored cheeks. Pakak had never seen his mother cry before; she was a woman made of iron, ice, and steel, all wrapped around a heart that was too big for her small, sad frame. He had seen her despondent and depressed, had seen those bright blue eyes of hers dark with sadness, but never once had he seen her cry. The sight of her tears shocked him more than the women's strange conversation.

Kanuk, his cousin, had passed away several days before. It was not uncommon for infants to die in the Poles; many parents didn't name children until they had achieved their first year in an attempt to keep from getting too attached. But Kanuk had been given a name, had been showered with love, had been treasured. And at only nine months old, despite the feverish, tireless working of their tribe's healers, he had passed on.

Aunt Suki had wailed and screamed on the first day, and his mother had quickly ushered he and the other children away from the grieving woman, and had given them strict instructions not to bother her. The second day, she had been silent, clinging to Uncle Sokka and his cousins. The third day, the day of the funeral, she had sat with her hands clenched, her knuckles white, Uncle Sokka's arms wrapped around her both to comfort and restrain her, and she had let out a low, keening, broken sound as the canoe carrying her child's corpse was set aflame and sent out to sea.

On this, the fourth day, she had dark circles beneath her listless eyes, and looked drawn and thin and paler than Pakak had ever seen her. As pale as fresh fallen snow, as pale as death. And now here she sat, a woman of steel bent and broken, weeping in his mother's arms, speaking the name of a foreign child that made tears stream from eyes that never wept.

Later, when Uncle Sokka had taken Aunt Suki away and his mother had composed herself, Pakak gathered his courage and sat at his mother's feet. "Who was Nozomi?" he asked softly, resting his hand on her knee.

His courage nearly failed him when he saw her big blue eyes widen with surprise, then soften, and watched as her mouth pressed itself into a sad line of resignation. She cupped his face with her calloused copper hand, and let out a sigh that made her entire body deflate before she straightened her shoulders. "She was your sister," she replied softly, and Pakak merely stared at his mother in shock as her eyes clouded and took on a far away look.

"Your father and I loved her so," she continued, and Pakak held his breath. He could count the times that his mother had mentioned his father on one hand, and he was afraid if he moved, if he breathed, if he blinked, it would break the spell and his mother would swallow her words and pull her secrets back into the shadows.

"She was beautiful; so pale, always smiling, always laughing. And so sweet; everyone who knew her loved her… She was the one bright spot in our lives, the one thread that held us together after he…" his mother blinked and seemed to come back to herself, and the look she gave him was one filled with infinite tenderness and the apologies that he knew she couldn't bring herself to say.

"She died when she was two," she said softly, her voice carrying the ring of finality. Pakak wanted to ask her how his sister had died, what had happened between his parents, but he knew from the expression on her face and the tone of her voice that the moment had passed and she would now hold onto her secrets as tightly as an oyster clamped itself shut around its pearl.

Pakak nodded slightly, and gave his mother a slight smile when she pressed her lips against his forehead. This woman who he had spent his entire life with, who had kissed his scrapes and bruises and tucked him into bed every night, who had told him stories and had listened to his dreams, was a complete mystery to him. He knew her every mood, knew what every gesture, every facial expression she made meant, and yet he knew nothing about her.

He knew what he had heard others say: that she had fought in the war, that she had been the avatar Aang's waterbending master, that once, every man in the tribe had been in love with her spirit and beauty. And that she had returned home one day on a Fire Nation ship with a child in her belly, and had given birth to him several months later. But that was all. The person that he loved above all others was all shadows and mystery; a dark beauty with eyes too sad and a hidden past, and secrets that she guarded with all of her being.

One day, he hoped, he would unlock those secrets. One day, she would trust him enough to tell him her past. But until then, he would be content with the bits and pieces that he gleaned from conversations with his aunt and uncle, with the words that she let slip out of her mouth when she allowed her mind to wander to that faraway place. And he prayed that one day, one day, all would be revealed.


	11. The Terrible Trio

"Go, go, go!" Hakoda shouted, tearing out of the kitchen so quickly that he nearly stumbled as he ran, the cook's curses following him like a tail.

"I told you that you shouldn't have put that explosive jelly in the pot!" Pakak panted from where he was running beside the older boy, his face a mask of worry. "Aunt Suki is going to have our hides!" he exclaimed, which set Hakoda off into a round of laughter. He looked to Nukka for help but saw that the girl's grin was as wide as his cousins and he knew that his usual ally had defected to the dark side. Traitor.

"Worth it!" Hakoda exclaimed in response, dodging one of the servant girls who let out a yelp of fright as she watched the three children rush past. The three called out an apology as they rounded the corner, before skidding to a stop and hunching over, their breath coming in short bursts. All at once, Hakoda and Nukka began laughing so hard that they wheezed and their eyes filled with tears of mirth.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Hakoda asked between bouts of laughter, and Nozomi did a fair imitation of the way Cook's mouth gaped and eyes had bulged in horror. That set the children off into another round of giggles again, and this time Pakak forgot his fear and joined the others.

"He looked like one of the fish flopping around on the docks!" he chimed in, and the older two laughed again until their sides hurt.

"Best prank ever," Hakoda said when the laughter had somewhat abated, and Nukka shook her head, her messy, frizzy mess of curls bouncing as she did so,

"No, the best was when we stuck that fake blood you made all over Pakak and made it look like he had an arrow coming out of his shoulder. Do you remember how your mom screamed?" she replied, and Hakoda laughed.

"How could I forget? She grounded me for a month for that one. Dad was pretty impressed by the fake blood though. He made me tell him how I made it."

"I think the best was when Nukka replaced Uncle Sokka's bath gel with dye and it turned his skin orange for a week," Pakak replied, warming to the memories of pranks past. He and the others dissolved into a fit of laughter again when they remembered the way their strong chieftain had moped about the palace, conviced that he was dying of an incurable disease. Even after Pakak's mom had glanced between the snickering children and her moaning brother and had promptly smacked each of the three upside the head, the chieftain had insisted that he was ill until the dye had faded from his skin.

The palace staff, and even their parents, referred to the children as the terrible trio for all the mess they made and havoc they wreaked. But they preferred to call themselves the terrific threesome, a name that Hakoda had concocted. And they were terrific. Terrific and inseparable. Pakak knew that one day their friendship would be broken up, when Nukka would be sent away once she became an adult. But that was three long years away, almost forever away, really, so he didn't think about it too much.

All of a sudden, the smiles dropped from the threesome's faces when they saw Aunt Suki round the corner. She was heavy with child, her massive pregnant belly sticking out in front of her, her face contorted into a scowl.

"You three. To the meeting room. Now." She ordered, her face a red mask of fury, her green eyes narrowed into slits. Pakak gulped and glanced on either side of him to see that both Nukka's and Hakoda's bravado had drained away and that now they were both very pale and scared looking.

The three trudged obediently behind the chieftain's wife, too scared to attempt to drag their feet or protest punishment. Aunt Suki was terrifying when she was pregnant. One minute she'd be happy and the next she'd fly into a rage, only to collapse into tears and then get angry again since she hated crying. It was a very, very bad idea to make Aunt Suki mad when her belly was so big.

When they reached the meeting room, Suki glared at all three of the children, and then stuck her finger in Hakoda's face. "You stay right there, young man, while I go and get your father," she demanded, and then looked to Pakak and Nukka. "That goes for you two as well."

With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared, leaving the three children alone together once more. "I thought she was going to pop a blood vessel," Nukka murmured dryly, and both Pakak and Hakoda's repressed laughter turned into snorts as they attempted to mask their amusement.

At the faint sound of voices outside, the three glanced at each other and then hurried to the door, pressing their ears against it to better hear the conversation.

"Cook could have lost a hand!" Aunt Suki was exclaiming, and Pakak could just picture the livid look on her face.

"Katara could have put it back on for him," Uncle Sokka replied in his consoling tone of voice, and Pakak smothered his chuckle with his hand when he heard what was quite obviously his mother's indignant huff. "Besides, doesn't it remind you of us when we were young?" he asked.

"As I remember, it was you and Toph that pulled things like this, not Suki and I," Pakak heard his mother mutter, and he frowned at the strange name. He glanced between Nukka and Hakoda who shrugged in response.

"I think she was the last avatar's earthbending teacher," Nukka whispered into their ears, and the boys nodded. Nukka was, after all, the expert on all things avatar.

"As I remember, you had your fair share of moments," Uncle Sokka was saying, and then he paused for a moment. "Actually… nothing really comes to mind. You always were the responsible one. But you! You were definitely in the midst of plenty of it!"

Pakak could practically hear the gritting of Aunt Suki's teeth as she spoke. "What I did in the past has nothing to with what happened today. The fact of the matter is that those children are wild! They have no idea how to discipline themselves. Hakoda will be the next warrior of our Tribe and Nukka is the avatar, for Kyoshi's sake! They need to learn how to control their less refined impulses!"

Uncle Sokka's tone had become placating again as he said "Yes, yes, of course, Sweetheart, you're right, you're always right…" Hakoda mimed gagging, making Pakak and Nukka smother their laughter with their hands, and the three children back to the center of the room where Suki had left them.

Just then the three adults came through the door, their hands on their hips, the looks on their faces incredibly fierce. The three children stood with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in front of them, the perfect picture of repentance as the adults scolded them. Finally, once their punishments had been doled out and the adults had sent them to their rooms, and they were alone once more, the children glanced at each other and grinned.

"What do you say we put walnut juice in Cook's washrag to get back at him for tattling on us?" Hakoda asked as they made their way to their respective rooms- Nukka and Pakak to their own, and Hakoda to the one that he shared with his siblings, Keiki and Apuk.

"I'll get the walnut juice," Nukka volunteered.

"I'll get the washrag," Pakak said with a grin.

"I'll make the plan," Hakoda replied, the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.


	12. The Conniving Elderly

Kana sat before the fire, her feet propped up on a pillowed stool as she watched the antics of her great-grandchildren. Pakak and Hakoda were sparring, using their hunting spears in a playful imitation of the dance of death. At ages eleven and twelve their bodies were still soft with childhood, but their minds were sharpening, making them more adolescents than children.

The young avatar was sitting out the sidelines, shouting out encouragement to Pakak and good-naturedly jeering at Hakoda. The older boy simply rolled his eyes and continued fighting, while Pakak's face lit up and glowed with pride at the girl's support. While she was cheering, Nukka was also braiding young Keiki's hair, who in turn was attempting to braid her four year old brother's short locks. Apuk was too busy drawing patterns on the floor to bother to notice his sister's tugging.

Kana's eyes slid back to Nukka, knowing from experience that as soon as the fight was over, she would jump into the fray and begin battling the victor. That was one competitive girl; always in the thick of things, never taking no for an answer, with a skull so thick that it could crack stone. Kana liked her. She reminded her of herself, of how Katara had once been.

The smile that had lifted her old, wrinkled cheeks slipped when she thought of her granddaughter, as she remembered the child who had left the icy shores of their home but who had never really come home. The woman who had returned had been a stranger to her at first, a deep sadness in her eyes and a wound in her heart that had never truly healed. She missed the innocent, bossy, bright eyed child that her granddaughter had once been.

With a sigh she glanced over to Pakak and watched his lithe movements. He was of smaller build than the rest of their tribe, his bones lighter, his skin paler. But he moved with a quick, agile grace that beefy Hakoda could never hope to possess. He was a quiet, serious child, but a sparkle of mischief lay behind those strange, guarded eyes of his. Mischief that the louder, more outspoken Hakoda and Nukka often brought out in him.

All at once the fight was over, young Pakak the victor. He shook Hakoda's hand with a grin that good-natured Hakoda easily returned. In that moment, Nukka jumped into the ring as Kana had expected she would, snatched Hakoda's spear from his hand and launched an attack on Pakak. The boy's face lit up as they fought, a perpetual grin on his face as he watched the older girl.

Kana leaned back with a smile and pressed her fingertips together. Oh, now _here _was something. She doubted that she would live long enough to see her great-great grandbabies, but she'd put any amount of money on the fact that one day Pakak and Nukka would be producing them if the expression on the boy's face was any indication. What lucky children those would be- they would have the blood of both Avatar Roku and Avatar Nukka running through their veins. What a spectacular combination… She would have to encourage this at every opportunity.

"You've got that scheming look on your face again," Pakku whispered into her ear, and Kana glanced over her shoulder and realized that her husband had entered the room while she had been lost in thought.

"Scheming? Me?" she replied, widening her eyes to make herself appear innocent.

"Yes, you. You're as meddlesome as Iroh," he murmured, his voice thick with mirth.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kana huffed, crossing her arms in mock indignation.

Pakku rolled his eyes and sat down beside his wife. "Of course you don't," he muttered under his breath, and Kana allowed herself to grin at him before glancing back at her great-grandchildren.

Nukka had begun to draw water out of the air and add that to her assault, causing Hakoda to harass her from the side and Pakak's face to darken as he shouted about how she was breaking the rules. Nukka merely laughed and continued her attack, causing Pakak to work double time with his spear to deflect the girl's blows. He was agile and graceful, and had the promise of a great swordsman beneath his childish inexperience.

Kana heard her husband make a noise in the back of his throat as he watched the children spar, and she turned to the man with a brow raised in question. "It would appear the boy has a bit more of the Blue Spirit in him than I'd expected," he murmured lowly so that the children wouldn't be able to hear, and this time both of Kana's brows rose with interest.

"It's a shame he can't have the proper instruction in dao swords," she said slowly, watching Pakku's face to decipher where his train of thought was headed. The man was silent for a long time as he watched his great grandson, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Piando is a master swordsman, a fellow member of the White Lotus, and a friend of Iroh's. Perhaps I can speak with Iroh and arrange for him to visit the South Pole for a few months every year ad train Pakak," he said after a time, and Kana frowned.

"Why not just send the boy to the Fire Nation?" Kana replied, and Pakku shook his head.

"And have the entire Fire Nation court talking about a Water-Tribe half-breed that is being given free lessons by one of the most renowned swordsmen of the Fire Nation, and who also happens to call General Iroh by the name of Uncle?" he replied dryly, and Kana flushed with embarrassment that she hadn't seen the obvious herself.

"It looks like he might be winning," she said gruffly, gesturing to where Pakak was managing to beat Nukka back.

"He won't. She's older and has the advantage of bending," Pakku replied entirely too reasonably, and Kana huffed.

"You over-estimate the advantage that benders have," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. In that moment, Nukka gathered a water whip and managed to his Pakak with it on the back of his knees, causing the boy to tumble to the ground. A fraction of a second later, Nukka was straddling his waist, her blunt-edged dagger pointed at the boy's throat.

"And you under-estimate it," Pakku replied with a smug grin, and Kana humphed before giving her husband a rude gesture and storming away. His laughter mixed with the bickering of the children trailed behind her, and the corners of her lips twitched upwards when she made out the sounds of Pakak and Nukka continuing their spar with words rather than with fists. She had a feeling that pretty soon, the pair of them would be fighting for the higher ground in love rather than in a sparring ring. The thought made her grin.

A match made in heaven, those two.


	13. Mistakes of the Father

"What did you do this time, young lady," Zuko asked, fixing a stern eye on his youngest child. At six, the little girl was already an exemplary actress and master manipulator, and she turned those charms on him now. She looked up at him through thick lashes, her pretty golden eyes already shimmering with tears.

"Daddy, I didn't do it on purpose," she sniffled, and Zuko had to repress the urge to smile. He glanced towards Mai and saw that her face was stony and her arms were crossed over her chest. Obviously, this was not something that he would be able to let little Mairi out of.

"Tell your father," Mai said sternly, fixing a severe eye on her child, who glanced between her mother and father before apparently coming to the realization that acting would do her no good today. With an indignant huff she dropped the façade and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Ryzuo said that his dragon was going to eat Dolly, so I cut the dragon's head off. If he doesn't have a mouth, he can't eat Dolly," Mairi muttered, glaring up at her father in defiance.

Suddenly Zuko was taken back in time to a different little girl, another firebending prodigy, who liked to pop the heads off of her dolls. Shaken, Zuko stared at his child and not for the first time noticed the resemblances between her and Azula. They had the same perfect, bow shaped lips, the same china doll complexion. They both had a fire born of determination glinting in their gold eyes, both had a temper and a stubborn streak. His mouth dry, Zuko glanced up at his wife and saw the seeds of worry in her eyes as well.

"You must never, ever do something like that again. Do you hear me, young lady?" he demanded, attempting to mask the sudden tremor in his voice. Mairi hung her head, although Zuko knew it was more to hide her anger than out of repentance. "As your punishment, you will help your mother sew the dragon's head back on, and you will give your brother a sincere apology. Do you understand?"

The child kicked at the floor and mumbled under her breath. "Speak up," Zuko ordered, and the girl let out a harsh sigh before glancing up and meeting his gaze.

"I said, 'Yes, Daddy,'" she clarified, although her expression was positively mutinous.

Wearily, Zuko called for the nursemaid, who quickly ushered the young princess out of the room. He and Mai sat in silence for a time, neither wanting to voice their thoughts. Finally, Zuko sighed and buried his head in his hands. "She frightens me, sometimes," he admitted softly, and suddenly Mai's hand was on his shoulder.

"We won't let her become her aunt," she murmured in response, and Zuko nodded. Again, he wondered who Azula would have become had it not been for her mother's neglect and her father's twisted interest in her. Ultimately, it was those years of abuse that had caused her mind to fracture, not her personality itself. Perhaps Mairi would merely turn into the sort of woman that Azula would have been if fate were kind.

He glanced up at Mai, and thought not for the first time that his daughter was nothing like her name sake. Where Mai was plain, Mairi was beautiful- perhaps the most beautiful child ever born into the royal family. With her large golden eyes, lustrous hair, high cheekbones, and delicate chin, the child was already lovelier than her grandmother Ursa, who had once been called the most beautiful woman in Fire Nation history. Where Mai was even tempered and calculating, Mairi was quick to laugh, quick to cry, and acted more on impulse than anything else. Whereas Mai was soft spoken, Mairi was boisterous and opinionated, never afraid to speak her mind. Mai enjoyed gardening, Mairi enjoyed sparring. How could a mother and daughter be so utterly different?

Furthermore, how could a niece be so similar to an aunt that had died years before her birth?

"Zuko. Mairi is not Azula," Mai said again, her voice firm this time, drawing him out of his thoughts. Zuko managed a sigh and rested his hand over Mai's where it was lying on his shoulder.

"I know," he replied, and managed to force a small smile for his wife. He watched his wife's shoulders sag as she heaved out a sigh, and then she stepped away from him.

"I have a luncheon scheduled with the headmistresses of the Fire Academy for Girls. I shouldn't be late," she excused herself with a slight nod in his direction, and Zuko bowed his head in acceptance as he wished her luck on the venture. The luncheon had been scheduled so that Mai could attempt to press the headmistresses to allow girls of a lower class into the school. Zuko realized that Mai was fighting a losing battle on that front, but then again, his wife was a strong woman who didn't like to take no for an answer. Hopefully, she would be able to accomplish the impossible.

Zuko sighed and looked back to the stack of documents he had set aside to scold his daughter and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't ready yet to throw himself back into work, his mind still on his worries about his youngest and favorite child. Thinking about Mairi led him to think about his sons, which caused him a whole host of other concerns.

The crown prince, Sotaro, was a perfect child in every sense of the word. Dedicated to his studies, loyal to his family, desiring the truth above all else… the boy would make an exceptional Fire Lord one day. His other sons, however, gave him headaches the likes of which he had never realized being a father could give. Atzuo, Taizo, and Ryzuo were thick as thieves and constantly getting themselves into trouble. Taizo invented schemes that made the pranks Toph used to pull on the gang look like child's play, and his brothers followed suit. Zuko had lost count of the times that one of the boys had harassed a servant or set fire to something or other or had intentionally hidden a priceless artifact to terrify the staff. To make matters worse, the oldest, Atzuo, had just begun to notice girls, and was already chasing the daughters of the servants around the corridors. Zuko gave the boy another five years before some scandal or other erupted over his 'corruption' of some noble's daughter.

Zuko sank back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes wearily. And absently, he wondered if Katara was having as many problems with Pakak as he was having with the children that Mai had given him. All at once, the scars on his heart began to pulse and throb, and Zuko grimaced at the reminder of what he had lost. Out of force of habit, he reached into the desk drawer that contained his hidden stash of liquor, and as he lifted a bottle of Sake his fingers brushed against the portrait that his Uncle had given him several years before.

With trembling hands, he set aside the sake and lifted the portrait of the family he had once been a part of, his eyes moving over Katara's form in a gentle, sorrowful caress before moving to rest on the face of his son. What was Pakak like, he wondered. The boy must be fourteen now- the same age that Katara had been when he had met her for the first time on the icy shores of her homeland. Was the boy as devoted to honesty and faith as his mother had been? Did he share the same belief that everyone was innately good? Was his temper as hot as Katara's? Did he have her laugh, her ability to make everyone around her believe that all was right in the world? Did he have the gift of comfort, the tendency to love others more than he loved himself?

Zuko closed his eyes and let out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding. All he knew was what Uncle and Piando had told him- that the boy was a non-bender but a quick study at swordplay, intelligent, sensitive, exceedingly close to his cousins and hopelessly devoted to the young avatar. Zuko's mouth quirked slightly despite himself when he thought of Katara's child mooning over Aang's reincarnation. It seemed fitting somehow, as the last avatar had spent his life hopelessly in love with Katara.

He wished he could see the boy in person, could determine for himself what sort of man he would grow to be one day. He wished he could help the boy with his Dao-blade forms, instruct him on the ways of men, give him advice on how to get the girl… but then, maybe Zuko wasn't the best choice to give that sort of advice. After all, while he had gotten the girl, he had ultimately lost her. Hopefully the mistakes of the father wouldn't be repeated by the son.


	14. Womanhood

"Master," Nukka breathed as her hands danced over the hairpin that Katara had placed in her grasp. It was in the shape of a flower she had never seen before, the petals enameled a vibrant orange, inlaid with amber and onyx. It was a heavy thing, made of solid gold, and Nukka's breath caught in her throat when the probable cost of such an object came to her.

"It is a Fire Lily," Katara explained softly, a slight smile resting upon her lips. "They only grow in the Fire nation," she added, reaching over and lightly stroking a petal, her eyes in a faraway place. "You'll see them in person one day, when you go to learn fire bending."

Nukka shivered in the ceremonial robes that Katara, Suki, and Keiki had embroidered for her, and slid her eyes up to meet Katara's. Her normally fearless face was filled with trepidation, and she fidgeted in her seat. "I'm afraid," she whispered softly, and then felt herself be drawn into Katara's warm embrace.

She had been orphaned when she was small; her father had died in the invasion of the Fire Nation, her mother of childbed fever. When the leaders of the Northern Water Tribe had discovered that she was the Avatar and had sent her to Southern, Katara had taken her in as one of her own, had become mother as well as master to her. Her heart ached to know that she wouldn't see this woman, the only mother she had ever known, again for several years.

"You are a daughter of water. You have nothing to fear." Nukka could hear the hidden amusement in her Master's voice as she said the words, and when she glanced up she could see the ghost of a fond memory in the woman's eyes. Nukka swallowed back the urge to ask what the saying reminded the woman of, and Katara smiled and continued as though she could see the question in the young Avatar's eyes.

"Water is adaptable, changeable; it always finds a way. It can wear down the oldest mountain, can smooth the edges of the sharpest glass. So you too will adapt to your environment, will find a way where others capitulate. It is natural to be frightened when you leave home, but you do not need to worry. You will succeed in all you do." The master waterbender leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Nukka's cheek, and the girl turned and buried her head in the crook of Katara's neck.

"Were you afraid?" she murmured against the wool of Katara's parka, and she could feel the woman stiffen beneath her. "When you left home for the first time?" she clarified, breaking the unspoken rules of the household by asking about Katara's past.

She could feel Katara swallow, felt her body shudder as she let out a heavy sigh. "Yes. I was terrified. Terrified and nervous and excited and depressed, and yet oh so happy… I was a little bit of everything. I'd never left Southern, you see, and when Aang came… it was a way out, a way to see the world, to help my father…" she trailed off and shook her head. "I was only fourteen when I left home. Young and naïve and so certain of everything."

Katara paused, and pushed Nukka back far enough so that she could cup her face in her calloused hands and look deep into her eyes. "I came back older than my years, my confidence shattered, my beliefs shaken to the core. But grown up, finally. For the first time in my life, I'd seen the world for what it truly was. But this is a different time, Nukka. We are no longer at war, and the avatar commands respect. You will not wind up like me. This journey will change you for the better."

Nukka stared into those sincere blue eyes, and wondered not for the first time what had happened to the beautiful, sad, compassionate woman who had raised her. Who Pakak's father was; if he had been the man that had cast a shadow over what had reportedly been such a bright spirit. "Thank you," she whispered softly, and was tugged into her master's embrace. Katara smelled of fur and ash and the faintest hint of tea… she smelled of home.

"Come, your Womanhood Ceremony is supposed to be a happy day," Katara murmured, drawing away from Nukka's suddenly desperate embrace and wiping tears from her eyes. "Here," she murmured, withdrawing the comb from Nukka's grasp and slipping it into the elegant chignon that Suki had spent over an hour braiding, twisting, and curling into perfection. "You look beautiful. Your mother would be so proud of you, if she could only see you," the older woman added, her voice soft, wistful, and Nukka wondered if Katara was thinking of her own mother, killed in a raid so many years ago.

"You're my mother now," Nukka whispered in turn, and saw Katara's eyes grow wet with unshed tears, felt the woman's trembling as Katara leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"And you my daughter," she mumbled, her voice shaking with repressed emotion. She smoothed a calloused palm over Nukka's cheek and when she drew back her eyes were shadowed, haunted, full of both pain and pride. And Nukka wondered if Katara was thinking about the daughter she had once held in her arms, who had died before Pakak had known her. Wondered if Katara was imagining what it would have been like to prepare her own child for her womanhood ceremony; to kiss her daughter's cheek and hold her hands before the girl would have tumbled over the cusp of adolescence and into adulthood. The thought made Nukka's heart ache for the woman who had raised her.

Katara sniffed, blinked, and just like that her emotions were locked away, her face forced into a smiling mask although the pain lingered behind her blue, blue eyes. "Come," she said, rising and holding a hand out to Nukka, who grasped her mentor's palm and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. And then they walked out of the room and into the weak sunlight, were they were enveloped in a cloud of incense and welcomed by cheers. The joyful cries and tearful faces marked the end of her childhood; the last of her carefree days. Nukka's journey into womanhood had begun.


	15. Revelations

All was silent in the abandoned Air Nation temple, a dark, crumbling place inhabited by the ghosts of the hundred year war. She had been brought here to meditate, to find a bridge to the spirit world to converse with her previous life, the legendary Avatar Aang that had been born into these hallowed halls, who had been the last airbender. This would start her journey, would set her on her course. Here, she would fully embrace her destiny; take her first spiritual steps to becoming the Avatar.

Her footsteps echoed through the empty chambers, and she swallowed hard when she came upon a vast room filled with old statues- the room that Katara had warned her about. Here were all of her past lives- an old man with a beaked nose and long beard, a Kyoshi warrior of improbable height, a Water Tribe man swathed in furs. Nukka swallowed hard, attempting to control her breathing, to remember what she had been taught.

Slowly she sank to the ground and slipped into a meditating position, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs. She closed her eyes and concentrated on nothing, hearing the blood thrum in her ears, her breath echo in the haunted chamber; and slowly, even those distractions faded away, leaving nothing but the dark and the reassuring, lulling rhythm of her pulse. Her concentration was broken, however, by the sound of footsteps upon stone. Nukka opened her eyes and froze, her body thrumming with nervous anticipation.

"Avatar Aang," Nukka breathed, staring into the gray gaze of a fourteen-year-old boy. The twelve year old who had attempted to save the world had only been a little younger than Pakak when he had died. Nukka swallowed hard at the realization, looking into the eyes of a legend come to life. She had heard the stories of him, of course, but he had always seemed so much older in the legends told before the campfire; more like a brave, tall, handsome man, less like a boy. She had never pictured him the way he truly was: thin, pale, and short with wide, childish eyes far too big for his face.

"Avatar Nukka," the boy replied with a small smile and slight incline of his head, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. Suddenly remembering herself, Nukka dropped into a bow, a blush heating her face at her forgetfulness. She heard Avatar Aang's peal of high pitched, childish laughter and glanced upwards to meet his eyes again.

"Come, come. No need for niceties between us. I am you and you are me. There is no need to bow to yourself," he said, his voice thick with mirth. Nukka's mouth fell open in surprise, and the Avatar laughed again. "Sit. We have much to discuss," he said once his laughter had subsided, gesturing to a chair in the corner.

Nukka obediently went to it and sat, swallowing hard. All of her life she had been prepared for this moment, but never, _never_ had she realized what it would actually be like. She sat in the chair dumbly and stared up at Aang in silence, her mind whirling.

"Do you have any questions for me?" Aang prompted when the silence grew thick and heavy, and Nukka blushed and cursed herself for her stupefaction. She licked her lips and nodded after a moment, and looked into Aang's smiling, encouraging face.

"What was it like?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, and Aang frowned.

"What was what like?" he replied, and Nukka swallowed.

"The war," she replied softly, and saw Aang's shoulders droop a little as he sighed. "I've heard about it all my life, but the only people who were there- Katara, Aunt Suki, Uncle Sokka- they won't talk about it. They won't talk about you or Toph or their travels, and none of them talk about what happened in the Fire Nation… I want to know about the war that killed my father," Nukka added, and Aang nodded his head slowly.

"The war was a terrible thing. In the beginning it was just Katara, Sokka, and I. The war had killed their mother, had taken their father away from them, had killed the man that was like a father to me. Katara and I learned to waterbend from Master Pakku, although she progressed much faster than I. We left after the invasion of the North, and she became my new master," he began, and despite herself, Nukka broke in.

"Master Katara learned faster than you did?" she asked in amazement, and Aang smiled.

"She is incredibly stubborn. She had to prove that she was better than all of the men, so she would stay up practicing the moves that we had been taught until dawn. She was fiercely competitive too; she thrived in combative situations. She beat every last one of us to a pulp when it was time to spar. She was amazing, even as a girl," he explained, a wistful tone coming into his voice.

"You loved her," Nukka whispered in realization, and Aang dipped his head in affirmation.

"My love was not returned," he replied softly, with no trace of hurt or bitterness. He stated it as a simple fact, as though his earthly emotions attached to the fact had long since been severed.

Aang then continued his story, talking about how Sokka had fallen in love with the girl who had become the moon, how Katara had orchestrated a prison break in the Earth Kingdom to rescue Haru, a boy she had befriended; he spoke about Sokka's abysmal hunting skills (something that surprised Nukka given that Uncle Sokka almost always managed to make the first kill on a hunt), about the blind Tomboy Toph, his earthbending teacher, who it seemed as though her family had loved dearly. He told her about the Kyoshi warriors and Sokka's courtship with Suki, about how they had been chased around the globe by Zuko and his maniacal sister Azula, about how Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee had killed most of the Kyoshi warriors and had overthrown the Earth Kingdom from within. And then he told her about how Zuko had mended his ways and joined their group, bringing along Iroh, his firebending teacher.

"Iroh? As in Uncle Iroh?" Nukka asked suddenly, her eyes wide. Aang paused, and Nukka's eyes widened further when she processed what else Aang had said. "And Zuko… Fire Lord Zuko… was friends with you and Katara and Uncle Sokka and Aunt Suki? But Uncle Sokka hates him!"

Aang was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed. "Zuko was the one that killed me," he said softly, and Nukka's mouth dropped open in horror. "It was a terrible decision he had to make though, you must understand. His father and sister made him choose between me and his wife and child. He chose to save the ones he loved," the Avatar continued before she could respond, and Nukka swallowed.

"I thought he didn't marry the Lady Mai until several years after The Day of the Black sun," Nukka replied, her mind whirling.

"This is his second marriage. He was married before, in secret, to the woman he loved. His father forced him to divorce her once he had saved her life. And his sister… his sister killed their child. "

Nukka gasped and covered her mouth, her eyes wide as saucers. "How terrible!"

"Your Uncle Sokka hates the Fire Lord for a good reason, but Zuko is a very complicated man. He is driven by loyalty, by love, and he has been forced to make many difficult decisions in his life. I do not harbor any resentment or ill will towards him; in fact, I am grateful that he chose to save his wife."

Nukka sat silent for a moment, taking it all in, and then her eyes narrowed. "Grateful?" she queried, and in that moment, Aang's gray, too-large eyes were old, weary, and unfathomably sad.

"I never would have forgiven him if he'd let Azula kill her. I gladly died in her stead," he replied, and Nukka swallowed.

"You speak as though you loved this woman…Zuko's wife," Nukka observed, and the corner of Aang's lips quirked upwards into a small, secretive smile, and he shrugged his shoulders non-commitally.

"But then…" she began, and paused, her mind buzzing as it processed all the information that she'd been given. Aang had been twelve when he'd died, twelve, and by his own admission in love with Aunt Katara. And yet, the waterbender had not returned his love. And Aang had felt for Zuko's wife… Zuko's wife… _Oh, La_. "No wonder Uncle Sokka hates him so much," she whispered, her throat closing off.

Aang merely tilted his head to the side, saying nothing, giving nothing away, forcing her to come to her own conclusions.

"Pakak told me that he had a sister, once, that she died before he was born. Nozomi, was her name, I think," she added softly, mulling over the implications. Aang merely sat in silence, his wide gray eyes boring into her. Zuko had a child with his first wife, a child that had been murdered. Aunt Katara had a child that had died young under mysterious circumstances. And if her suspicions were correct and Aunt Katara had truly been the Fire Lord's first wife, then that meant…

"Oh, La," she murmured, pressing a hand to her suddenly aching head. "Pakak… Pakak is…"

"All conjecture," Aang cut in with an airy wave of his hand. "I have given you clues to the past of your family, and should you truly wish to discover what happened in the Fire Nation all those years ago, you will have to learn of it yourself. Your conclusion is logical, given the pieces of the puzzle I have given you, but not necessarily accurate," he added, and Nukka frowned. "But you have asked me your questions; it is time for me to inform you of what to expect."

As her past life launched into descriptions of her duty as the avatar, informed her about the cycle, explained what to expect in the coming years, Nukka's mind wandered to thoughts of the war, of a ragtag band of children who had been irrevocably changed by all that had occurred. She wondered if her attachment to Katara was a remnant of the love of Aang; if it had been Fire Lord Zuko who had put the shadow behind her kind blue eyes. She wondered if Pakak had the blood of tyrants running through his veins, if Katara was grateful that the boy was unable to bend the flames to his command.

As Aang spoke, his gray eyes bored into her knowingly, as if he was aware that she was unable to fully concentrate on his voice, like he knew her head was spinning. Should she confront Katara? No… the woman held her secrets close to her heart; guarded them as a polar bear dog would guard her cubs. Should she speak to Pakak? No; it was Katara's place to tell him, she had no right to share anything that Katara didn't feel her son was ready to know.

And when Avatar Aang had said his goodbyes and promised to speak with her again soon before disappearing into a cloud of smoke, Nukka remained sitting on the ground, her heart aching and mind reeling with the pain and confusion of lifetimes.


	16. The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

"This is all your fault!" Suki shouted, dragging Hakoda by the ear over to Sokka. At sixteen, the boy towered over his mother, and the servants and other members of the household had to stifle chuckles at the sight of such a tall, sturdy man making noises of pain as he was yanked through the palace by the chieftain's slight wife.

Sokka paused in his conversation with Beno and quirked a brow. "Did Keiki beat him in the sparring ring again?" he asked, and Hakoda groaned in mortification.

"That only happened once, Dad! Why do you have to keep bringing it up?" he moaned, and cowered when his mother pinned her furious, green eyed glare on him.

"I'd keep silent if I were you!" she exclaimed, giving his ear a good, hard tug and making him whimper. "Do you have any idea what _your_ son did?" Suki demanded, poking Sokka in the chest with her free hand.

"Something…bad?" Sokka replied with a helpless glance towards his son when it seemed that his wife was expecting an answer to her question.

"Bad? Bad? Worse than bad! A catfight broke out in the marketplace today. Three seemingly respectable young girls, pulling each other's hair and screaming obscenities. And do you know why?" she paused, and rolled her eyes when she saw her husband's blank expression. "Because they just found out that _your_ son has been sleeping with all three of them! It took both Katara and I to yank them apart!"

For the briefest of seconds, a look of misty, fatherly pride came over Sokka's face, and Suki glowered at him. Instantly, he pulled his features into a far sterner expression, but the look on Suki's face still informed him that he would be sleeping on the floor that night.

"How could you be so irresponsible?" he demanded of his son, who instantly hung his head. Sokka swung a glance to his wife to see if he was forgiven yet, but the frosty look she gave him let him know that he wasn't off the hook for his initial pride in his son's exploits. "They could have wound up getting pregnant, or worse! And you're hardly ready to be married yet," he continued, doing his best to sound angry.

"I wouldn't have gotten them pregnant; I was careful," Hakoda grumbled, and Suki tugged on the boy's ear again, causing him to emit a yelp of pain.

"Well, see, at least the boy…" Sokka began, but with one look from his wife he immediately changed course. "It's wrong to lie to women. If you're sleeping with more than one, you need to tell the girls that. Otherwise, these fights will continue to happen."

Suki's glare darkened, and Sokka shrunk away from her wrath. "Do not listen to your father; I don't know why I even brought you to him in the first place!" she exclaimed. "Now listen here. You have no business sleeping with _anyone_ right now, do you understand me? You are supposed to wait for marriage!"

Sokka let out a bark of laughter at this. "But Suki, even you didn't…" he began, but when her expression turned murderous, he quickly composed himself. "I'm sorry. Continue," he said, gesturing towards their son.

"Besides, what sort of example are you setting for Pakak?" Suki demanded, pointing to her nephew who was doing his best to watch the spectacle as unobtrusively as possible.

"Aw, Pakak wouldn't notice a girl if she stripped naked and threw herself at him, with the way he moons after Nukka. And the girl isn't even in Southern anymore," he protested, and Pakak sputtered and flushed crimson.

Suki stared at her son, then to her husband, before throwing her hands up in the air. "I give up!" she exclaimed, but then pointed at Sokka and gave him her most menacing expression. "You. If you know what's good for you, you'll deal with him," she threatened, and Sokka bobbed his head and dutifully pasted a stern expression on his face until she was out of sight.

After several moments, he scurried to the door and checked up and down the hall to make sure that she had truly gone, and then he let out a sigh of relief. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he marched over to his son, who stood with his hands clasped in front of him and his head bent.

"Quite frankly, I don't care who you sleep with so long as you don't get the girl with child," Sokka said, and his son glanced up at him in surprise. "But for La's sake, never let your mother find out about it again!"


	17. History Repeats

Pakak's heart fluttered when he saw her, twisting and turning on the practice field, the earth following the movements of her limbs. Her earthbending master stood nearby, shouting out instructions and criticisms, being entirely too harsh for Pakak's taste. But then, Nukka had always been made of tough stuff- no amount of scolding from his mother or Aunt Suki had been able to faze her, so how could the yelling of a little old man?

Watching her, Pakak was grateful that his sword master resided in the same city as her earthbending master. It made the long trip worthwhile in so many ways, and had given him something to look forward to besides months of rigorous training. Thanks to the fact that all of the Nations had adapted the Fire Nation's steam ship technology, the journey from the South Pole to Ba Seng Se had only taken him two weeks. His mother had told him to be grateful that the journey would be so short; that it had taken over a month on a flying bison to reach the Capital of the Earth Kingdom when she had been young.

Pakak sighed at the thoughts of his mother, wondering again about his origins, about why she and his aunt and uncle kept their silence. He was seventeen years old now, a man by the standards of his tribe; surely the time had come for her to release her vice-like grip on her secrets.

In that moment, Nukka turned in his direction, banishing all thoughts of his mother. The past three years had been good to her, he noted. At nineteen, she now looked more woman than child. Her hair had grown impossibly long and hung about her shoulders in a dark, curly mass; her cheekbones had become more defined, her body toned and muscled from training, yet still possessing the distinct curves of womanhood. Pakak felt his mouth dry at the sight, and suddenly felt like a awkward boy of fourteen all over again.

He saw Nukka's forehead crease as she stared at him, ignoring her master's rebuke, apparently trying to place him. And then all of a sudden a smile lit up her face and she was hurtling towards him, her arms outstretched as she ran. "Pakak!" she shouted happily, and then she was in his arms and he was twirling her around.

When he set her down, he realized that for the first time in their lives, he was at least a head taller than her. She looked equally surprised at the realization as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze, and Pakak couldn't help but grin at her expression. "What are you doing here?" she asked, and Pakak shrugged his shoulders.

"Master Piando wanted me to learn to fight in a different style, so he sent me to train with a friend of his here in Ba Seng Se. I thought I'd stop by and say hello to you before meeting my new master," he replied, and Nukka's grin widened a fraction.

"So you'll be staying here for a while then?" she asked, hope coloring her tone bright.

"For at least a year," Pakak replied, and his face flushed crimson when Nukka squealed in delight and pulled him closer for another hug. Three years of living on separate continents had apparently done nothing to ease his crush for the girl he grew up with. The older girl who had only ever seen him as a younger brother.

Little did he know that history was repeating itself. He didn't realize that Nukka's past life had loved his mother, yet had only been seen as a brother by the girl he cared for. How could he know, for no one had the courage to speak of the dark past. So he wasn't aware that his eyes were as bright as Aang's had been, that he was as obvious in his thoughts and affections as the last Avatar. What he did know, however, was that there was a dusting a pink on Nukka's cheeks, that she was sneaking glances at him from beneath her eyelashes the way the village girls did towards Hakoda. So while he was not aware of the connection between the past and present, his chest nevertheless swelled with hope for the future at the look that had suddenly appeared on Nukka's face.


	18. A Wedding

"You are my wife. My feet shall run because of you. My feet dance because of you. My eyes see because of you. My mind thinks because of you. And I shall love because of you." The traditional marital vows of the Water Tribe echoed through the icy halls of the Southern Palace, and Katara swallowed hard against her tears as she gazed at the figures clasping hands beneath an altar adorned panda lilies intricately carved from the ice. Katara had worked with them alongside Pakku earlier that morning; had lovingly curved each of the petals with a flick of her wrists, her heart in her throat as she recalled the rare white and black blossom clutched in Aang's hand. How many years ago had that been? Over two decades, at least. And yet the memory of Aang's hopeful face tilted up towards hers, his gray eyes bright and mischievous and somehow older than his tender years, was still fresh, still raw, still sent a spike of pain through her heart.

Katara swallowed hard and refocused her attention to the couple beneath the canopy, reaching a hand out to Suki when she heard her sister-in-law sniffle beside her. Hakoda looked so handsome, aglow with happiness as he clasped the hands of his young bride, his mouth stretched in a smile identical to Sokka's. How was it possible that the boy… man… was old enough to wed? Hadn't it just been his parents saying their vows, Suki's face flushed and bright with excitement, Sokka's glowing with pride? Katara didn't feel any older than she had in those days, and yet, there stood her nephew, two years older than Zuko had been on her wedding day.

The thought of Zuko made Katara's heart ache in that old familiar way, and she bit her lip when her gaze slid over to where her son stood as witness to the union of his cousin. He was eighteen now, eighteen and so much like Zuko that it made Katara _hurt._ He had the same facial expressions as his father, the same shy, awkward sort of presence that made her want to smile and draw him into a hug. He was older than she had been, when she'd wed. Older than she'd been when she'd been divorced, when she'd birthed him in the dim light of the birthing huts, Suki's hands keeping her steady as Gran-Gran had overseen the birth. How was that possible?

"You are my husband. My feet shall run because of you. My feet dance because of you. My eyes see because of you. My mind thinks because of you. And I shall love because of you." The melodic, lilting voice of the pretty little thing that Hakoda was taking to wife, barely past her sixteenth birthday, drew Katara's attention away from her son and back to the ceremony. The girl was impossibly dark, even by Water Tribe standards, her eyes the color of the sea after a storm, her hair black as coal. But she was lovely, as lovely as Yue had been when Sokka had first laid eyes on the young princess. Miki and Hakoda made a pretty pair, and even Gran-Gran had said that they made a good match. Katara agreed; the girl was less assertive than she would have liked, as meek as any woman from Northern, but her gentleness seemed to tame Hakoda's wild spirit.

Pakku smiled at the young couple, and Katara was suddenly struck by how old her grandfather must have felt in that moment- he had presided over the marriage of his grandson, and now that of his great-grandson, yet his memory was still fresh with the youthful face of the woman he had loved in his youth. The woman who now sat beside Katara, her hands wrinkled and gnarled with arthritis, her face creased with age. "She is yours," Pakku said, the traditional close to the ceremony, and Hakoda leaned forward with a grin to pull his new bride against him for a kiss.

Katara caught her son wistfully watching the pair, and knew he was thinking of Nukka, still holed up in the Earth Kingdom, too busy mastering Earth Bending to even make it home for Hakoda's wedding. Pakak never talked to her about the young Avatar; he was as secretive as his father had been in many respects, but Nukka's letters indicated their growing attachment. Katara wouldn't be surprised if it was her son standing beneath the altar in the not so distant future, Nukka's bright smile igniting a spark of joy in her child's eyes. La, let it be so. Prayerfully, the Spirits would grant her child happiness. They had seen fit to give her enough misery for a hundred lifetimes; perhaps they would see fit to spare her son the same fate. Perhaps they would agree that she had suffered enough for the both of them.

Katara sighed, her lips curving into a ghost of a smile as her nephew and his young wife laughed and waved to their cheering friends and family, their arms wrapped tightly around one another. Weddings were supposed to be a joyful event, a celebration that two lonely souls had found their life mates. Yet it seemed that for all in attendance, weddings were a bittersweet reminder of better days, of unrequited love. They were a mirror that revealed the guest's unfulfilled desires and memories of loves past.

As Katara stared at the young couple, their faces glowing with happiness, eyes alight with hope of a bright future, she couldn't help but to remember pale hands trembling as they held a crudely fashioned goblet, golden eyes molten in the fire's glow, chapped lips pressing to hers, warm and gentle and sweet with the heady taste of wine. But that was long ago, twenty years past, in another lifetime. The days of wedding finery and jade eggs hidden in the sheets were over for her now. She'd had her time, her brief, blissful moments of happiness. It was the new generation's turn now. It would do her no good to dwell on the past, to remember calloused hands ghosting over flushed skin, fingers laced and bodies twined so that it was impossible to determine where one ended and the other began.

So she pushed aside her memories and focused on her nephew, pasted on a smile to mask the familiar, dull ache in her heart, and laughed along with her tribe to keep her tears at bay.


End file.
